Drawing It In
by Loise
Summary: Everything was closing, time wasn’t passing and Quatre felt trapped.
1. Drawing It In

Drawing It In

* * *

It was the blood, the smell of it, persuasive and precarious, that made Quatre jerk his head up.

That hurt.

Closing his eyes and wincing, he slowly brought his head down. That soothed the pain, but it still burned. It was his neck, he realised.

Opening his eyes, Quatre for a moment was confused. He didn't see much at all, grey metal, a few shattered remains of glass and red.

A start of alarm raced through his body, and Quatre struggled to rein in his need to move. The car was red, he remembered, trying to hold down the hysteria.

He should have been used to tight, enclosed places, the cockpit of a Gundam wasn't spacious and he had been fine in there. It was the lack of control, not have the ability to escape and flee. That was what sent the adrenalin running through his body, which made his body begin to shake.

There were yells, shouts and cries, and the sound of sirens. Trying to speak hurt, but Quatre screamed anyway, his voice choked.

Not knowing if that helped, or if anyone heard him, made time seem like it wasn't passing.

Quatre didn't remember seeing the truck. He had dim memories of another car skidding, the truck swerving and… chaos.

The car was new, the brakes should have held, Quatre wondered if it was a sign of approaching distress that made him think of insurance. Surely, that wasn't normal.

He had liked this car too. Trowa found the backseat sexy. Quatre half smiled, the simple act of thinking of Trowa lighting his mood.

Lights of blue and red reflected of the glass, the broken glass fracturing the light onto Quatre's pale skin.

He licked his lips, twitching when he tasted, felt the coppery taste of his own blood. His breath sped up. They were taking too long, he thought feeling the spread of fear racing through his bones.

"Why are they raking so long?" He whispers quickly through half numb lips. "They shouldn't be taking so long…" He felt his breath catch, against the rapid rise of his chest.

He took a large gulp of air, and held on and to still his panic.

Without air, some things became so clear. His legs were becoming numb; he could barely feel them when he attempted to move his toes.

That should have frightened him, he knew, but somehow it didn't.

Black spots appeared, blinking at them did nothing. His chest began to burn, almost choking him, he didn't know how much longer he could -

Deep breath.

It easier this time. The air felt hot, but in a good way. The burn of his lungs started to fade as Quatre slowly blinked his eyes.

He must have a head wound, he grasped. "I have to stay awake," he murmured. Nipping at his lips at an attempt to stay alert and conscious, Quatre tried to stem the remerging terror.

It hurt again when he started back against his seat. The light, bright and invasive seared his eyes and he shut in protest.

"Hey! Are you alright? Can you speak?"

"Help me… please."

"Don't worry, we'll get you out. Stay calm, you'll only get hurt of you lose control of yourself. Okay?"

"Okay…" Quatre answered, "Thanks…"

The light disappeared for a moment, but Quatre urged himself to stay calm against the overwhelming fright. He was going to be rescued. It made the battle a little bit easier.


	2. Talking Dead

* * *

Talking Dead

* * *

A hand brushed against his forehead, he felt the blood spill over his eyes, making the scen awash with red. Hands race down his body.

"You're lucky. No broken bones, just some bruises and a head wound. It doesn't appear to be a concussion, but sir -"

"Thank you."

The person in front of his nods, "Yes, just to make sure I would like you to go to the hospital for the night."

He looks around, the dark of the night being swallowed by flashing, whirling lights. It mayhem, he thinks, it doesn't even appear organized. People run, there are still screams and Quatre closes his eyes.

"Yes. But... how will I get there? My car." The words come out slowly, carefully, with a bit of slur. The red car, has no windscreen, with one side crushed in. Quatre suddenly feels glad that he didn't pick up the hitchhiker. If he had, they would have been the one under the twisted metal.

"Just wait here, they'll be taking some others over soon." The man seems to disappear in an instant, and Quatre stumbles as the reassuring presence of life vanishes.

A woman walks by, her hand reaching for his as he nearly pitches forward. "Hey, there, steady, steady. why don't you come with me. I'll get you a blanket..."

Her words are then meshed together, as Quatre clutches onto her comfort.

"A blanket?" He mumbled.

"You're shaking, dear."

And he is. It can't be because he is cold. Shaken to the bone, he nods his thanks and lets her lead him over to a sectioned off area. A small girl is huddled closely in her mother's lap, eyes shut tight. A older man, sits with his head down. A young man, like him, appears to be crying. Others.

"What happened?" It comes out of his mouth without him even thinking of it. The woman freezes, her smile becoming more off putting than friendly.

"An accident." Is all she will say.

He looks around. "But how?" All of this doesn't make any sense. He saw it, a car seemed to stop, a truck couldn't get out of the way and the brakes just wouldn't work for him. He couldn't stop.

"I'm not quite sure." She hands him a blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders. "I'm sure the police will want to speak to you. Maybe they'll have the answers."

He nods, not quite sure himself.

"Now, you feel better?"

Not really. So he doesn't answer.

She seems to understand anyway. "Right. I'll be off. Just stay here, now then..." She walks off, and Quatre soon loses sight of her.

Clutching at the blenket, Quatre tries to ignore the wails, as the little girl opens her eyes. He only wishes that he had the youth to start crying himself. Biting his lip, he pulls the blanket over his head, loving the feeling of comfort as the lights and noise seem to dim.

A small gasp, a tear in the corner of his eye and his body shudders. No one can see him, Quatre's glad of that.


	3. Clean Up

Clean Up

* * *

He's herded away. Away from the car crash, the blurring lights and the confusing crowds of people. Inside the ambulance, he begins to breathe a little easier. 

His arms and legs feel like they are floating and Quatre starts to feel light headed. Drifting into sleep, his chin knocking his chest, the fear starts to recede.

When he wakes he's out stretched on a collapsible cot. It's cramped, and his shoulder's don't fit properly, his feet hanging over the edge. Sitting up, he squints ahead of him as his vision settles. The light, cold and sterile, hurts his eyes and he starts to notice the head ache just behind his eyes.

Doctors, nurses, patients, visitors pass by him. There is noise and a friction in the air that makes him tense, ready for any attack.

It doesn't come, and he loosens his shoulders. Turning so that he could face the crowd, Quatre takes a deep breath, relishing in the extra oxygen. It soothes his aching head. Rubbing his temples with his fingers, he takes another gasp of air.

"Sir? Mr Winner? That is you, right? Quatre Winner?" A young nurse smiles at him uneasily. "I'm Sue, and I'm your nurse." She laughs, grating on his sensitive ears. "I'm not sure why they sent you here," she murmurs, leaning down and resting a hand against his forehead. She had cool hands, and for a moment Quatre relaxes against her hand, enjoying the calming effect on his head ache. "No - Not that you're unwelcome Mr Winner! Everyone is welcome at a public hospital." Her hand moves away.

"It's fine. I'm thankful for the hospital's services." Quatre mutters tiredly, regretting his polite manner for a second, he wouldn't snap at her, not now or in this situation at least.

"You're feeling better then? The paramedic couldn't find anything that was wrong that caused you to black out, and I - we, were worried." She blushes and ducks her head. "Mr Winner, I - "

"I'm tired. I was tired, I think I was just exhausted from what happened and dealt with the circumstances. My body did at least, and just shut down. I believe I will be fine."

"Oh… oh! That's good Mr Winner! I'm glad!" She beams at him, at looks at her watch. "It's nearly sunrise, about five minutes before six. I'll check up on you soon." She backs away, nearly knocking into someone, before writing down something on a clipboard and disappearing around a corner.

He feels tired, and wants a shower. Stretching cautiously, Quatre winces against the pain and stands up. He needs to go to the toilet, rather desperately.

It takes a while to find one, and when he arrives, the image of himself that greets him, causes him to stop in his tracks. Quatre is dirty, bloody and with a sniff, reveals that he reeks of dry, stale sweat. He rubs a hand against his cheek where tear tracks have wiped through some of grime, and steps forward to the urinal.

Afterward as he washes his hands, he splashes several handfuls of water on his face. It takes away the dirt, dust and leaves some narrow, mostly shallow scratches feeling raw, but noticeably absent from dark, dried blood.

Wet hands reach out to the back of his neck, where his blond hair has knotted. He runs his hands through the tangles but quickly gives up.

He takes one last look before leaving, thankful of the lack of people that could have witnessed his clean up but didn't appear.

Stepping out of the men's bathroom, he's surprised when he slams into someone. Hands automatically go into a defensive position, as he recoils away from the person.

Sue, his nurse, gives him a vague look, before a smiles stretches across her face. "Mr Winner! I was worried, I didn't know where you were. You weren't at your cot and I was - "

"Calm down, Sue." She stops her talk. "Everything is fine. I just needed to, er, relieve myself." Quatre nearly says 'piss', but restrains himself.

"It's so hectic, you know? It's my first week, and I was worried!"

"I'm sure everything is okay," he murmurs, trying to still his nerves himself.

"Yes, well, I was searching for you, because, well, the police are here!" The last part comes out in a yelp. "I think they wanted to speak to you, earlier, but the ambulance took you here and - "

"I'll go see then, Sue. Thank you for telling me. Now why don't you tell me where they are?" Taking another deep breath, Quatre's smile wavers as he stares down at the frazzled nurse. His shaking hands are hidden away, clenched behind his back, and he hopes she can't notice his uneven breathing.

* * *

AN: The police! Hehe... Thanks for the reviews!  



	4. The Police

_Drawing It In - The Police

* * *

_

The police. Quatre took a larger gulp of air in, gritting his teeth.

The hospital, whirring through the night, changing shifts, the beeps of the life support machines, the rush and ebb of the people, crowding him. Quatre exhaled, closing his eyes, willing to centre himself. Briefly, he thanked Wufei for teaching him this particular meditation method.

"Mr Quatre Winner?" A brusque male voice asked, "We've been looking for you. You were in a car crash earlier?" A copper, he remembered Duo calling one, back one night, and they had both been drunk.

Though he knew he was under no suspicion, Quatre couldn't help the shiver run down his spine. It brought back vivid memories of the War, and the months he spent being tracked and watched. Always having to be aware, always having your eyes open. Quatre trusted and relied upon the Maganacs but he didn't want them becoming too involved, being killed and wounded. They weren't just fighting men, there were the civilians to think of. With those lives of his shoulders, Quatre had been ready to burden his own troubles and fight his own battles.

"Y-Yes, that's me. That is - I am Quatre Winner," Quatre unsteadily replied, stammering slightly.

The man nodded, taking down some notes in his blue, spiral bound notebook. It was mundane, and Quatre felt at itch at the back of his neck. He desperately wanted a shower, the washing up before hadn't done nearly enough to soothe his nerves. He needed - needed it.

"What do you recall seeing, Mr Winner? I understand that your vehicle was not part of the initial accident but was later involved," the man spoke slowly and seriously, steady and controlled.

"It happened ahead of me," Quatre started, going back just a few hours. It happened just a short time ago, and yet in some ways Quatre felt like days and weeks had passed. "I lost control."

He hated that. The feel of his car, the power and steering and speed, being taken away from him. A Gundam hadn't been like this. Weren't they supposed to be safer? The wheels skidding on the road. Were there going to be marks? A slam and the awful feeling of being trapped. Where was his car? Staying there, unable to leave and having no will to save himself. Was it destroyed? Waiting for others to save him, hearing the sirens and screams and remembering the War. Should he contact his insurance company?

"Is that all?" The police officer asked.

Quatre starts. "Uh, yes." An small awkward silence ensures. Quatre wonders if he should say something.

"If you do recall anything more, Mr Winner, please contact the police on this number." The police officer hands him a card. Quatre takes it stiffly and mumbles his thanks. "And, Mr Winner?"

Raising his head, Quatre murmurs duly, "Yes?"

"A word of warning, the media seems to have discovered that you were among the injured. They are outside of the hospital, at the main entrance." The police officer nods, and moves on. Quatre doesn't have time to say anything. He wasn't sure of what to say anyway.

"Yes, I should leave…"


End file.
